The Return of a Wandering Soul
by xv323
Summary: Time passed differently when he left - what had seemed mere hours to him, in that facsimile of King's Cross after Voldemort's killing curse had struck him down, encompassed months back in the world where remained those whom he loved . And when he returns, with Voldemort gone, it's time to go back - to take his place in the world, and to see that sunlight at long, long last .


**To anyone who reads this - hi! First HP fanfiction here, long oneshot for you. No idea if this particular idea or thought has been explored before, but I had fun writing it. Enjoy!**

* * *

**The Return of a Wandering Soul**

His footsteps fall slowly, unsteadily, and they echo across the empty courtyard as he makes his way to the vast oak doors set into the opposite wall. The evening sun casts its long shadows through the surrounding archways and the light is red and gold, and it shimmers and washes over the cobblestones like liquid, cleansing fire. The sense of home swells his heart near fit to break.

He remembers this space, these stones, very differently. Four months have passed and the rubble, the carnage - the bodies - are gone. Peace is in the air at last, it suffuses it, and Harry Potter blows out a breath, at last letting the tension subside from his shoulders and allowing himself to smile.

The date is September the 1st, 1998. Four months he's been gone - last glimpsed walking out into the Forbidden Forest, though of course he doesn't know - and he is sure they think he is dead. They must have seen the green flash pulsing over those trees only minutes later, and from what he has heard on the grapevine, they found Voldemort's body as well.

They know the war is over, but they do not know where he has been. Truth be told, he has not been _here_. He'd seen Dumbledore again - in what had seemed like an ethereal King's Cross. You know this story of course, but time has passed differently between that world and this, and there he'd found himself, very much alive, lying on his stomach, one hand loosely grasping his wand, back in the Forest of Dean, four months after he'd gone.

He had not at that moment presumed to know how he'd got there, but one enquiry of a bemused local Muggle had told him the date, and here he is, two days later, and of course the school is ready for the start of a new year. It always has been - this is _Hogwarts_. The eternal constant in his world, always there, always functioning.

They have already made their way in there. The whole school. He supposes the feast is already in full swing, and he doesn't know who he might find in there. Ron? Hermione? He's fairly sure Hermione will be there. The thought of not having finished school could never have sat well with her, even in the aftermath of a war, he thinks with a wry little smile.

Ginny will probably be there. And oh, does he want to see her again. He wants to see all of them again, to know for sure that it's over and that they're okay, and it is these thoughts that carry him towards the doors. It cannot be his own feet, he feels like he is floating.

It is as if the doors swing open of their own volition before him - he does not feel his arms reaching out, now does he feel his hands push upon their faces. The entrance hall stretches out before him, and it too is bathed in evening sun, plunging down onto the flagstone floor from the windows high above.

Nobody is here, but to his left - _there_. There is that archway, and another pair of doors behind which, he knows, sit those whom he so desperately needs to see.

He does not hesitate. Five long strides take him there, and this time he _does _feel it - he runs his palms over the careworn wood, just for a moment, feeling the ripples of the grain beneath his fingertips and imagining all the hands before his that have rested there. He takes a deep breath, grasps the enormous twin handles, and pulls them towards him, and the doors swing open, admitting him once more to the hall of the school where _help would always be given to those who asked for it_ - and finally, he is _home_.

* * *

Certain eyes in that hall are full not of the joys of victory, nor the excitement of a new year and all the possibilities that brings. Some of them were there that night - many fought. And they know how close they came to losing all of this that surrounds them. No, those eyes are full of sadness.

They know also, of course what it is that they _have_ lost, and their hearts are heavy with that. He's gone - Harry Potter, dead. They don't know what he did, but they'd seen that green flash over the forbidden forest, and Ron had told them between heartbreaking sobs how he'd caught a glimpse - just a glimpse - of what he'd thought was someone walking down towards that way, only minutes earlier. How that person had not been there moments later when he looked back and he'd passed it off as a errant figment of his imagination, one of many on that bizarre night. How he'd continued to believe that, even as realization dawned among them that Harry was no longer in the castle, right up until that hideous green lit up the sky and they knew, even before they tore down there, wands in hand and rage in heart, what had happened.

Their world had shattered, and it had felt weird that _this_ was how it would end. Voldemort there, alone, dead, his eyes unseeing and his pallid skin cold to the touch - his Death Eaters having long since apparated away in panic. They'd never found Harry's body, but the ground opposite where Voldemort had fell was scorched and charred, and amongst the smouldering embers, there lay a pair of round-rimmed glasses, their lenses shattered and their arms twisted and broken. Of course, they knew who'd been standing here minutes earlier. There could be no denying it. They'd won, but the _price_...

But here they still are, and even now they do not want entirely for hope. McGonagall stands up and begins her speech, to the new school year, and the sunlight still streams down upon them.

"Welcome, welcome to Hogwarts!" their new headmistress begins, her voice as strong as ever, and the room falls silent faster than it normally does at this stage. Hundreds of eyes peer up at her, wide-eyed in rapt attention, and Minerva McGonagall cannot help it as the ghost of a smile passes across her lips.

"Now, as I'm sure you all know, it has been an... an unusual sort of summer. But this is Hogwarts, and we do not yield to madmen. We vowed to go on teaching, and we have the chance now to do so. The castle has been rebuilt, and I would like to thank you all for returning here."

Her eyes pass briefly over one particular section of the long, long Gryffindor table, and there they are, the three of them - Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. She knows those three are going to have more than their fair share of attention this year and she feels for them - she is sure that is what they want least of all.

She collects herself. Her job is to be steadfast, and though they've lost so much, she can see with her very own eyes just how much they managed, against the odds, to cling on to... thanks to _him_.

"Now, we'll get onto the sorting in a moment, but first, some announcements concerning our new staff for this year..."

* * *

The feast is underway, and Hermione can tell, from the fact that Ron is not stuffing his face as if this is all the food they will have for the rest of the year, that he is feeling as torn as she is.

McGonagall's speech was short, to-the-point, and the first-years have been sorted, as they always are, and she can't escape the feeling of normality, cloying and suffocating and feeling so very out of place in this brave new world of theirs.

He is sitting next to her, on the bench that sits along one side of the hall's central aisle, his eyes forlorn, and he looks almost lost. One of her hands is nestled in one of his, and she rubs his back slowly and gently with the other, and she stares at him, concern - compassion - etched on her face, She can feel people staring at all of them, furtively, when they think they won't be noticed, but the past year has taught her alertness if nothing else, and it takes her a great deal of effort these days not to feel constantly twitchy, constantly on edge.

The two of them, Ron and her, have had their moment, their kiss during the battle, a heady mix of excitement, of love and lust and loss and longing. Their love for one another has grown in strength this summer. They have consummated it together, many times now, and an engagement ring glitters on her finger. It seemed right at the time, and it seems right now, that they should not wait any longer to say, in word and deed, that which they have been waiting the best part of seven years to say to one another anyway - that they love each other. And of course, they've grieved together, the two of them - embraced in soul together, and they miss him, more than words can say - together. She wishes he could see them now - see all that he's given them, see the chances he's made for them.

They have to face it now - the three of them are heroes in practically everyone's eyes. Ginny, who sits opposite the two of them and seems to share Ron's expression, is the only person Ron and Hermione have yet told about the all of the events of the previous year, but enough information has leaked out from others that people have got a broad idea of just what they've been doing while the rest of the wizarding world has been wondering where they are.

Of course, nobody knows what ultimately happened to Harry. There has to be _something_ he never told any of them, something only he knew that he had to do, and whatever it was, it had worked. It breaks her heart that the one person who'd fought the hardest for the future they all now have, cannot now sit and begin to enjoy it with them.

So she thinks, of course. But barely five minutes later, the monumental, echoing creak of old hinges and older wood signals the opening of the doors, and astonished gasps and cries immediately shoot through the hall, instantly electrifying the atmosphere. Confused, alarmed, she stands, and casts her eyes towards the entrance - and once again on this journey they'd all been on together for all this time, everything changes.

An unseen hand clamps itself over her heart and for a moment it feels as if the connection between her eyes and her brain has ceased to function - it takes her longer than it should to understand, properly, what it is that she is witnessing. That shock of messy jet-black hair; those green eyes, staring right back at her; _that scar_. Of course, it can only mean one thing, but she cannot permit herself to believe it, not yet - endings like this are for fairytales, they don't really happen. They _can't_.

And yet... there he is. _There he is_. Standing upright, right in front of them, just as brazen and unbowed as he always has been.

And he's alive.

* * *

Harry Potter takes two steps forward and stops. His hands are at his sides, his chin is up and he stares straight ahead, but his heart is soaring.

And there is that golden sunlight. He can feel it now, the warmth radiates through him from his very center, down to his fingertips, and he can't remember ever having felt like this before.

Hermione is standing absolutely motionless, her hands over her mouth, eyes wider than he thinks he's ever seen them. Ron is next to her, and he looks as if he can't quite bring himself to believe it.

Up at the back of the room, dead ahead of him, McGonagall stares down the full length of the hall at him, and even despite the distance he can still make out the shock on her face. Gone is any semblance of matronly authority, and in that moment she's not a teacher any more - they're equals.

And as he looks back to the Gryffindor table - there, opposite Ron and Hermione - there _she_ is, one among a sea of hundreds of faces - people who've stood to get a better look at him. There is her flaming head of hair, and it's like a beacon for him. Bringing him back... bringing him home.

He could never have left this, not a second time. He had to once already, to go and face Voldemort for the last time, alone, and he had the chance, with Dumbledore, to do it again - he knew his task was done, and it would have been so simple just to take that train from King's Cross that was going, as his old headmaster had put it, _on_. Even as he contemplated it, though, he knew there were people, back where he came from, with whom he wanted - _needed_ - to spend the years of peace that they've earned together. One day he'll take that train, and he'll face death like an old friend once more, but he has a life to lead first.

And here he is now, at last, and he knows he'll have his moment with her, and many thousands of moments to come afterwards - but right now, his friends are there, and they're waiting for him. He doesn't know how long he's been standing there motionless in the archway, but now he starts to walk. The initial commotion and shock of his entrance has dwindled by now to an astonished, pregnant silence, and his first few slow, tentative footsteps echo throughout the hall, ringing of finality, but then the applause begins. Tentative at first, a few single handclaps resonating into the noiselessness, but soon it builds, and one by one every single person in the cavernous room is jumping to their feet, and the noise is enormous, _thunderous_ as it rises and rises and _rises_, almighty cheers and shouts of joy echoing off the enchanted roof, which now, in sympathy, begins to break up and scatter the clouds it has held over the hall all evening up until now. The light surges once more, like a vast unfurling curtain of golden silk throughout the room - and now he's running, and so are they, towards him; hurtling down the self same aisle that he'd walked up for the first time seven years before. He'd been alone then - not now.

He reaches them together, and their arms are thrown around him, together, and the noise is still building, but he can hear the two of them sobbing their relief and feel their vice-like grip on him, and he embraces them just as tightly in return - for there they are, _together_. Together, as always they have been - and as the cheers and the relief and the happiness wash over him, he knows he will never be able to put into words just how much they mean to him, how their friendship has held him together in the darkest of the times that he's had to face - for he was never alone, not really_._ He clutches ever tighter, for now he knows - he _knows _it's over.

They stay like that for what seems like hours, but the roar of the cheers and the applause does not dim for a second. At long last he lets go and his eyes snap immediately to his right, and before he knows what he's doing he's climbing, scrambling up the benches, onto the table itself, and Ginny does the same on the other side, and all of a sudden they're inches from each other, caring not at all that they're stepping between, over and onto various plates of piled-high food, so caught up are they in one another, and it now seems so very plain what comes next.

He kisses her. She kisses him. _They_ kiss, and it's desperate, and full of relief and hope and joy and it cannot, _cannot_ be any better. The noise in the hall redoubles in its volume, and the warmth of that sun is on his back again. His eyes are shut and yet he can still see her - he sees her clearer than anything he's ever seen before, and he sees hope. Maybe for the first time ever, he sees hope, and it sends an unfamiliar thrill through him.

They break the kiss but their faces do not move apart from each other, not one inch. He rests his forehead softly against hers, and whispers to her amongst the near-deafening noise, whispers that he'll tell her everything she wants to know - _needs _to know - when she's ready, and as she breaks down and sobs against his chest he knows that she's heard him. He clutches her to his body, and one of his hands finds the back of her head and he draws her in, and he knows they'll be okay.

He takes a moment, and lifts his head to cast his eyes towards the staff table, beneath that stained glass window that's bursting forth with colour and light and splendour. The joy that rises in him on seeing the smiles on their faces feels almost like a physical blow to the chest, repeating itself over and again as his eyes move along the table. There's Hagrid - his face obviously wet from tears even from this distance - and Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall. His gaze pauses on her for a long moment, and she looks straight back at him, and he can see the blazing pride etched in her expression.

His gaze traverses the hall, now. Every face he sees staring back at him is full of the joys of youth again, full of wonder, and he feels again the understanding, just as he always has, of just what it was that he was willing to walk to his death in order to protect.

And though he'll insist to the end of his days that the credit for their victory should never have been given solely to him, he knows that today, this applause, that even now refuses to relent or subside, is indeed his to receive, and he knows too that it's okay to take a moment to reflect on all he's done, and thank whatever providence it was that allowed him to be here to see it. He feels honoured beyond words, and as he stands there and drinks it in he can feel the understanding growing and blossoming - his task, at long last, is done, and he can finally smile.

* * *

It takes an outrageously long time for the chaos in the hall to finally settle. He circumnavigates the room again and again, catching up with old friends, hearing more each time of how the world has moved onwards in the four months he's been... _away_. Ginny does not leave his side, not for a moment. He visits each and every table and he can feel hundreds of eyes following him around - can hear the whispers that are silenced the moment he approaches - and he's fine with it. He wishes they would not revere him, of course, but to feel appreciated is a novel thing for him, even now, and every time he drops himself down onto a new spot on a bench on one of the four long tables, new stories and emotions pour forth from those around him, and he is quite content to listen, to talk, to relate hundreds of individual tales from the past seven years of his life - reserving only a select few for now, because he hasn't told them to anyone, and there are certain people - his arm tightens slightly around Ginny's shoulder - who he needs to tell first, before the world gets to know.

Finally, he returns to the Gryffindor table and wedges himself in next to Ginny, and Ron and Hermione resume their seats opposite, and the four of them just _talk_ - about the war, about everything they've been through together. When conversation falls upon the past year, and the time Harry, Ron and Hermione had spent together on the run, Harry reaches once more for Ginny's hand and squeezes it in the silent promise that he will tell her _everything_ in the fullness of time, and she turns towards him and casts him a smile that tells him immediately she is content, for now, merely to listen to the three of them make oblique references to events she has no knowledge of. She knows full well that her love for Harry is requited, that his heart belongs to her, but she understands - and accepts - there is a certain bond between these three that nobody else will ever be able to fathom completely. It does not worry her, really - in the fullness of time, she is sure there will be things she and Harry share together that nobody else will ever know of or understand, and in her mind's eye she can see the four of them, years from now, lounging contentedly on a couple of sofas, around a fire in one of their houses, reminiscing together, utterly comfortable and content with each others' company. It is an enticing vision, and for the first time, perhaps ever, it feels like it may actually happen one day.

Harry's reappearance has totally disrupted the normal flow of events - he can tell that simply by looking up from their conversation for a moment. Multitudes of owls, more than he's ever seen, whirl overhead, and he knows that it will not be long before news of his reappearance finds its way out to the rest of the world and he has to face them and tell them exactly how he did it. He is not looking forward to it particularly, but he knows it has to happen - and given the problems he's faced already in his still-young life, he thinks it's pretty inconsequential. Meanwhile, the feast has almost been forgotten - students of all years mill around aimlessly between the tables, and the houses mix together like they never have before - and the staff are in there as well. Everyone seems just a little bit stunned, and Harry allows himself a wry little smile - he likes this new version of Hogwarts, if anything, even better than he liked the old one.

After a while, he excuses himself, and makes his way up to the staff table. He's known, of course, that eventually he's going to have to explain to McGonagall just how he's come to burst in on their start-of-year celebrations, and he is grateful to her that she has given him the leeway to spend the time he has with his friends and contemporaries - but he owes her an explanation.

As he approaches, though, the professor rises immediately from her place at the centre of the table and walks all the way around, down off the raised dais and towards him - and they meet in the middle. Her hands come up and she clasps his shoulders, and she's smiling more broadly now than he's ever seen her - and again, there's that pride in her eyes.

"Harry..."

The use of his first name throws him for a second, but he returns her smile and after a moment, replies.

"It's good to see you again, professor."

"Good to see _me _again?! Harry, you have no idea how much it means to me... to us... to see you - " her breath hitches for a moment, "to see you alive."

"I know, and I promise I'll tell you soon what happened to me, but would you give me a bit of time to tell -"

McGonagall cuts him off. "Of course, Harry - you mustn't feel rushed into any of this. Of course you should tell those three first... I've felt... obliged to send owls out to the Ministry to tell them what has happened... to tell them you're here... but you are welcome to remain within these walls as long as you want, and you have my word no officials or media will bother you for as long as you do."

"That's what I wanted to ask about actually, professor... I, er, I know it's quite short notice, but the reason I came back here first, apart from the fact that I'd probably find Ron, Hermione and Ginny here, is that..." - he pauses, and gathers himself for a moment - "I want to take my seventh year, professor. I want to have a year of normality here, and do my NEWTs, and take the chance to enjoy being here for a bit without the... without Voldemort hanging over my head the whole time."

And of course, McGonagall does not seem even remotely taken aback. "Of course, absolutely, Harry! We'll get the house elves to make a bed up for you in Gryffindor tower and you and I can meet soon to sort out which classes you want to take... you know you'll always be welcome here, Harry, don't you worry about that." She pauses now, and a note of wistfulness enters her voice when she speaks again. "Take tonight to just be close to those who are important to you, Harry. We'll sort out the details in the days to come... it's nearly time for the students to make their way up to their common rooms now, and you should go with them. Everything will be ready for you."

Harry can feel the curious mixture of grief and happiness welling up in him again, and he manages to choke out a _thank you_, which McGonagall dismisses with a good-natured wave of her hand, and after a moment, he turns and walks back to the Gryffindor table.

"Was that what I thought it was, mate?" Ron asks once Harry is in earshot.

"I'm going to be here this year, yes - if that's what you were wondering" he replies, his voice slightly hoarse. Hermione squeals in delight and throws her arm around him, and Ron has a grin on his face so wide Harry thinks it's a wonder the top of his head hasn't fallen off. Ginny, meanwhile, is looking at him expectantly, and after Hermione releases him, he clambers up over the table again and down next to her, and they look at each other for a long moment before kissing again - and it's slower this time, gentler - full of promise, and he can't help but feel just a little bit blessed.

* * *

It's late now, and the last embers of a fire are dying in the hearth of the Gryffindor common room, and there's only a few people left, mostly sixth- and seventh-years, scattered around the place, some sleeping, others chatting away in easy, quiet contentment.

And of course, there the four of them are, sprawled over two of the sofas around that same fireplace. Hermione's legs are resting across Ron's lap, her head buried in the crook of his shoulder, and his head rests atop hers as the two of them sleep, oblivious to all but one another.

Harry takes a moment to cast them a fond glance over the top of his glasses before his attention is drawn back to Ginny. He is sprawled out lengthwise along the other sofa, and Ginny is lying on top of him, gently stroking the stray locks of his hair that tumble down over his forehead and into his eyes. Her own eyes are soft, tender even, and not many words have passed between them in the preceding couple of hours - they haven't had to.

But he feels he has to tell her - and it occurs to him, now, that he's _ready_. He hasn't thought he would ever feel able to tell anyone some of the things he's about to explain... but it's _her_, and he wants to pour his heart out, at last - he's sick of bottling things up, he's sick of _secrets_.

"Gin" he breathes, scarcely more than a whisper.

"Mm?" She's closed her eyes now, and her head is resting sidelong on his chest, and her voice is sleepy, and for a moment he thinks he should probably let her rest - but after a moment, her head comes up again and they make eye contact, and he's convinced.

"Gin, I... there's a reason I had to walk off into the Forbidden Forest that night... will you let me tell you?"

She smiles slightly, and pecks his lips before sitting up, taking one of his hands in hers and bringing her up with him. His arm comes to rest lightly across her shoulders and she drops her head down to rest on one of his own shoulders, burrowing into his side. He takes a deep breath, and finally begins to let it all out.

"Hermione and Ron told you why we were away from Hogwarts all last year?"

He feels her nod her head slightly. "You were off looking for Horcruxes."

"Did they ever tell you what those are?"

"Vaguely. Some piece of very dark magic... something to do with the soul."

He pauses for a moment, his mind going back to what, for him, is three days ago, and for everyone else is four months in the past - and he's standing there in the forest again, facing down Voldemort and the curse he knows must surely come next - the killing curse that this time, he knows, has to live up to its name in order for them to win in the end - for he himself is a vessel for the enemy, his body is not his own, and he carries a shard of the very thing he's sworn to kill within him, and has done so for longer than he can remember. He can't help but shudder, and Ginny feels it, but she waits for him to carry on.

"They're basically containers for pieces of a person's soul. If you... if you kill someone in cold blood, it breaks a piece of your soul off, and if you know what you're doing, you can trap that piece inside some object or other... it means that as long as that object exists, you can't be completely killed."

_Now_ she lifts her head up, her eyes wide in shock. "And Voldemort had _six_ of those things?!"

"Seven." The response is past Harry's lips before he can think, and Ginny's brow furrows again.

"But those two told me it was six -"

"Yes... as far as they know, there were six. That's what Voldemort meant to happen. He liked symbolism and the number seven appealed to him... six horcruxes plus himself. But there was... there was a seventh horcrux, one he didn't know about."

It takes a while before Ginny voices the question he knows she must be contemplating.

"What was the seventh one?"

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and he stares into the fire for a long, long moment. This is going to shock her, he knows that - and he feels guilty for having to subject her to this, but he wants her to know, and he knows she wants him to tell her. So, finally, he turns his head, he locks eyes with her, and he gives his answer.

"It was me."

Her face betrays simple incomprehension for a fleeting instant before the penny drops and her eyes widen yet further, her mouth hanging open slightly. Her grip on his arm suddenly clamps down like a vice, and he can feel her trembling - and he can't let her reply yet - he has to get the rest of this out before he chokes up, and he can feel it coming already.

"When Voldemort tried to kill me seventeen years ago.. when my mother saved me by putting herself between us... the killing curse he cast at me rebounded, and the only reason it didn't kill _him_ was because of the Horcruxes he already had." The words tumble out of him now, and he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. "But... when the rebounding curse hit him, a piece of his soul broke off and latched onto me... and I've been carrying a bit of him around with me ever since. It's the reason I've been able to see into his mind, it's the reason my scar used to hurt whenever he was nearby..." He's looking down into his lap again now, he can't bear to see what these revelations are doing to her, but he ploughs onwards. "I found this out on the night of the battle when Snape gave me one of his memories just before he died and I took it to the pensieve in the Headmaster's office... I saw Dumbledore explain everything to Snape... that I was a Horcrux, and... and that when the time came, and Voldemort was weakened as much as he could be, that Horcrux had to be destroyed, same as all the others."

Now he looks back up at her. The tears are streaming down her face now and she isn't even trying to stop them. She's clinging to him like she's tethering him to life, and he almost falters and stops, but he forces himself to continue, although he knows the next part will be the worst.

"Snape's a story for another time, but he was a spy for us, and if it hadn't have been for him, I wouldn't have known what had to come next." One more deep breath. "Gin, the reason I walked off into the Forbidden Forest that night was because I'd just found out that, in order for Voldemort to die... I had to die first. He had to kill me."

A single, anguished sob escapes her lips and her head is buried in her shoulder, and she cries uncontrollably, and he gathers her in her arms and holds her, rocking slowly back and forth. He doesn't know how long it is before her anguish subsides even slightly, and he strokes her hair and whispers comfort into her ear.

He glances up after a while and is surprised to see Ron and Hermione wide awake, looking straight back at him. Hermione's cheeks are wet with tears as well and Ron is holding her close, looking himself utterly thunderstruck, and he wonders how much they've heard of the tale he's just told - and he asks them, in a hushed voice.

"We heard enough, Harry" is Ron's reply, and he sounds as shell-shocked as he looks - and Harry extends a hand, and shuffles up along his sofa, and Ron understands immediately, and he scoops Hermione up in his arms and crosses the small space to slump down next to them, and there the four of them are, together. There's barely any room, but their closeness gives them comfort, and at long last, Ginny raises her head and looks at him again - really _looks_ at him, and he pulls her even closer to his side, and takes a deep breath, and continues.

"I walked down into the forest, and I had that snitch with me - the one I got from Dumbledore's will." At Ginny's slightly quizzical look, he continues, "Dumbledore left me a snitch in his will, the one from my very first quidditch match - the one I nearly swallowed. We worked out that it had some kind of flesh memory, and back in January, I think it was, I touched my lips with it and these words sort of appeared on it... it said '_I open at the close'_. We never worked out what that meant, but as I was walking down into the forest, I realised that this was as near to 'the close' as I was ever going to get - so I touched my lips with it again and it opened, and this little stone floated out of it."

Ron and Hermione's eyes both instantly go wide at this - the only Hallow they never found, or so they thought, for it had been with them all that time. Harry, though, turns towards Ginny, and says "there's a whole load of background to this which I'll need to explain to you some other time... it's complicated. But this stone was... we knew it as the 'resurrection stone', and... well, when I grabbed it out of the air, I could suddenly see my parents standing in front of me... and Remus, and Sirius..."

Ginny's eyes are wide again. "It was like the time in the graveyard when I saw them" he goes on, knowing he's told her the story before of what had happened at the end of the Triwizard tournament, seemingly half a lifetime ago. "They weren't quite... _there. _I could see them, but they didn't quite seem solid - I couldn't touch them. But I spoke to them. I asked them to stay close to me... and they did."

He can feel a lump forming in his own throat now, and he doesn't trust himself to stop talking for more than a second lest he find himself unable to start up again. "I carried on, and found him eventually... and he cast the killing curse at me... and then... I suppose, then I died." He turns to Ginny again. "Gin, you were... you were the last thing I thought of. I can remember seeing your face... clear as day, before this big green flash and then white..."

Ginny claps a hand to her mouth, and another heart-wrenching sob tears itself from her, and he leans over and kisses her on the forehead, stroking her back, and he feels a hand - Ron's - clasp his shoulder on his other side, for a moment, before another hand, much more slender - Hermione's - finds his own, and slips itself into it for a moment and grips solidly, before withdrawing again.

"Then, I was... this is the most bizarre part of the whole thing. I still don't know if this really happened or not, but I was... I was in this weird, completely-white version of King's Cross station. It was... well, I thought I was dead, and it was... it was beautiful. And Dumbledore was there, and I spoke with him... asked him what was next and he said it was up to me... and I chose to come back." He leans over and kisses Ginny's forehead again - to intimate to her just what his reasons were, for it was her, and them, that he came back for, and he wants them to know. "I'm not sure it's a choice anyone else has ever been given. But I was, and he next thing I know after that is that I'm waking up in the Forest of Dean - right next to where we found the sword of Gryffindor, Ron. I recognised it immediately."

He glances to his left and he can see confusion in Hermione's eyes. He knows what she's going to ask.

"Harry, how long were you at... at King's Cross... for?"

"It felt like a couple of hours to me. Three or four maybe."

"But... but Harry, the final battle was four months ago, how come it took you so long to get from the Forest of Dean back to us?"

"I only woke up two days ago, Hermione." And he can see the dawning realization on all their faces. "For me, it's been three days, if that, since I walked down into the forest... not four months."

The plethora of emotions that he sees opposite him perfectly mirror his own - alarm, confusion, shock, deep sadness. "I don't know what was going on in those four months, I don't know where my body was, I don't know where _I _was... I don't know if I really died or not... but when I woke up, I could just _tell_ that I'd got rid of the Horcrux in me... I could feel it, instinctively, and it didn't take much before I understood I'd somehow managed to kill Voldemort too. I went into Diagon Alley under the invisibility cloak, and I saw a copy of the _Prophet_... I suppose they're still writing about it even now."

Hermione's resolve finally breaks and she throws her arms around the pair of them, Ginny and Harry, and Ron slings an arm around them as well, and the four of them sit in a collective stunned silence. Somehow Harry knows this is as much as he's able to relate to them tonight - he can just tell, any more and he'd just crumble in front of them - and it's late now, but he has his friends with him, and he has the love of his life in his arms, and it feels like it's time, finally, to sleep. To begin to put it behind him.

But he won't be separated from Ginny - not tonight. And he can tell Ron and Hermione would say the same if he asked them. Even now they're curled up in each other's arms, and he's spent so long separated from those he loves that he cannot countenance leaving them now, not even for a single night. So, with a sidelong glance to Ron that says everything it needs to, he rises from the sofa, carrying Ginny in his arms, and he crosses to the vacant one, and maneuvers himself down so that he's lying along it, Ginny resting atop him, her eyelids fluttering sleepily already. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Ron and Hermione arranging themselves similarly.

He's quite content to spend the night here - tomorrow is Sunday, and he's happy to sleep for as long as his body tells him it needs to. He knows they'll be found like this in the morning by the entirety of the rest of Gryffindor House, but he can't really pretend he cares - and he thinks they probably know just how important this is to him anyway. They'll leave him be.

There is, he reflects as sleep begins to claim him as well, nothing quite like being in the company of those you love. And he misses them so dearly, those he's loved and lost, and that's a hole he doesn't think he'll ever be able to fill. But his heart - his heart _is_ full, now, so full he can barely breathe, and it's full of love, love for the woman lying atop him and love for his friends, and gladness of their love for one another that they've found at long, long last. And of course, his heart always has been full of love, really, and after all the talk of Horcruxes and Hallows has fallen away to silence, _that _is what their victory owes itself to. And there is enough of it suffusing this room, this familiar, warm room, that he feels like he's walking on air.

Harry Potter smiles one final time, and at long last falls into a deep sleep, dreamless for the first time in a very long time, and the final page of this chapter of his life, a chapter of war and strife and loss and anguish, that final page is turned, and the book is closed and ended. Onwards will come the future, and the sunlight that poured forth through those windows in the hall earlier that day - that sunlight, it seems, already lights the path ahead.

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**Told you it was long! If you've read this, I hope you enjoyed it, and if you want to leave a review, I certainly wouldn't complain! ;)**


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